


Never Lose Your Flames

by jellydonut16



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Depressed Yuuri, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Post-Series, Recovery, Slow Burn, Viktor just wants Yuuri to smile again, amputee!Yuuri, viktuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellydonut16/pseuds/jellydonut16
Summary: He throws the covers off and that’s when Yuuri sees it. Half of his left leg is gone, covered in white bandages and ending just right below the knee. His heart is racing. There are a million thoughts running through his mind, none of them— not a single one— pleasant. For him, it’s the end.





	1. like a deer in the headlights, I meet my fate

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All I know stems from researching online.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His name is Yuuri Katsuki and he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon.  
> Disclaimer: All I know stems from researching online.

_Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep._

 

Yuuri stirs awake, a tired groan leaving his lips. Automatically, a hand reaches out to quiet the alarm clock beside him on their bedside table. The bed shifts; Viktor snuggles closer to Yuuri, the arm draped around the younger’s side tightening its grip into an affectionate embrace.

 

“Good morning,” Yuuri says, voice laced with sleep. Viktor merely hums in response, rubbing soothing circles onto Yuuri’s bare waist with his thumb. Makkachin is sound asleep by their feet. It’s nice.

 

They stay like this in this comfortable quiet for several minutes before Viktor eventually speaks up, stifling a yawn. He ends up yawning anyway. “What time is it, _solnyshko moyo_?”

 

“Four AM,” Yuuri says, heaving a deep sigh. “I guess I should probably get started on that run now.”

 

Four AM jogs in the winter cold of Hasetsu. Truth be told, it wasn’t his _favourite_ way to start the day (honestly, he’d much rather indulge in a cozy lie-in with Viktor and Makkachin), but it was better than jogging this time of year in St. Petersburg. This, he says from experience.

 

As long as he’d lived in Russia with Viktor to train, he could never quite get used to the weather there. It was icy, unforgiving, harsh— a stark contrast to the relatively light snowfalls Hasetsu got in the winter.

 

“ _Da_ , you probably should,” Viktor hums, leaning in to nibble at Yuuri’s earlobe. He reaches over to give the younger skater’s barely-there chub a playful squeeze.

 

Yuuri squirms and smacks his hands away. “V-Viktor, stop it—!!”

 

“You’ll need to burn off the katsudon from last night if you want to be in top form for the Grand Prix Final!”

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes, despite the fact Viktor probably couldn’t see him— or maybe, perhaps, especially so. “I know, I know,” he says, closing his eyes and bidding the warmth of their bed a silent and sorrowful goodbye before eventually sitting up and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

Viktor moves fast and grabs his wrist. “Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri blinks and turns to look at his fiancé. “Yeah?”

 

The Russian smiles at him sleepily. “I love you.”

 

It makes leaving the bed even harder.

 

The Japanese skater cups Viktor’s cheek, chocolate brown eyes of his warm with tenderness and affection. “I love you too.”

 

Heaving another sigh, Yuuri finally gets up and stretches before heading to the bedroom’s en suite to wash up.

 

The fluorescent light burns his eyes the moment he flicks the switch on. He waits a few minutes for his eyes to acclimatise to the brightness before going about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and washing his face, using the toilet.

 

He pads out of the bathroom not five minutes later and he can feel the cold already seeping into the soles of his bare feet. Yuuri makes haste and shrugs a coat on over his hoodie, changes into a pair of jogging pants, and a pair of thick white socks.

 

“I’ll see you at the rink,” Viktor says, pulling Yuuri in for a chaste kiss.

 

“Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

 

Yuuri exits the room, careful not to make any unnecessary noise.

 

Even though his parents were relatively early risers, it was still far too early for anyone else to be awake, especially in this weather! Sitting on the steps by the front door, Yuuri slips his feet into his running shoes and internally braces himself for the impending cold as he leaves the resort.

 

As expected, it’s cold, but not bitingly so— not _yet_. He takes his time walking out of Yu-Topia, listening to the sound of his shoes crunching the freshly fallen snow underfoot. At the gate, he slips his earphones on and plays his free skate song for this skating season. Once he hears the familiar notes starting to play, he breaks into a slow jog.

 

His name is Yuuri Katsuki. He’s twenty-five years old and he’s one of the dime-a-dozen figure skaters certified by the JSF. He won his first gold GPF medal last year and he’s engaged to the silver medallist who made a comeback that same year. He’s none other than Viktor Nikiforov— the Russian living legend of ice skating, who loves taking selfies with his poodle using the dog filter on Snapchat, and sometimes giggles in his sleep.

 

Yuuri’s pacing his jog into a run, making sure to maintain his breathing so he won’t tire out as quickly. He ignores the fact that the cold has numbed his fingers and toes, and the runny nose he’ll have to deal with after. He works through his new routine in his head, one that he choreographed entirely by himself, and he loses himself to the music.

 

His name is Yuuri Katsuki and he is _blessed_ and so, so lucky to be surrounded by the people he loves.

 

But.

 

He doesn’t realise this. He’s so engrossed in his own thoughts and his routine, that he doesn’t hear the sound of tires screeching over pavement slick with wet ice.

 

He doesn’t hear it.

 

He doesn’t notice it until it’s too late.

 

His eyes widen when he turns his head and sees bright, yellow headlights flooding his vision, and nothing but darkness beyond that. He flinches, frozen to his spot.

 

It’s too late.

 

The truck slams into Yuuri’s body, sending the skater several meters away, crumpled and bloody. Crimson seeps out, covering the snow and the pavement.

 

He convulses. Pain overwhelms him for a second, then nothing.

 

Everything goes black.

 

His name is Yuuri Katsuki, and he is.

 

Was.


	2. the life may leave my lungs, but my heart will stay with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hiroko receives a call, the Katsuki family and Viktor go to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon  
> The alternative title for this is 'sept huit neuf'.
> 
> I added a warning for graphic violence just to be safe.

“Hurry! Bring the stretcher here. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

 

“Prepare the tourniquet!”

 

Several EMTs rush over to the body of a young man with jet black hair. Another EMT is leaning over him, checking his pulse as he slightly lifts the man up from the snow.

 

“Damn. He’s dying,” he hisses, helping the other two strap the man’s body onto the stretcher before rushing back to the ambulance. There is a trail of blood that follows them, and an ominous feeling hanging in the air.

 

As soon as the doors are shut, the ambulance revs off, as fast as it could given the circumstances, lest there be a repeat of what had happened in the first place. The EMTs quickly wrapped a tourniquet around the man’s limbs in order to stop or at least slow down the bleeding. But even then, that alone was barely scratching the surface of the extent of his injuries.

 

They made quick work of peeling his clothes off, freezing, wet, and soaked in blood, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. The man still had his earphones on and there was music still playing. An EMT paused the music and searched for the man’s Medical ID, usually listed along with the emergency call option on smartphones.

 

The man is Katsuki Yuuri, twenty-five years old. No wonder he seemed familiar. The man was the pride of Hasetsu and Japan’s top skater.

 

* * *

 

Doctors were already on standby at the hospital’s main entrance, awaiting the patient’s arrival with a steel gurney at the ready. They placed the stretcher right on top of the gurney, not having a moment to waste. No, not a single second. They rush down the hall, orders for preparations being yelled out and they wheel him into Operating Room 1. They undo the fasteners of the stretcher and transfer him to the operating table.

 

Electrodes are placed over his skin and Yuuri is hooked up to an electrocardiograph machine and the sound of beeps start to fill the room, though they are faint and far in-between. He is administered anaesthesia and an oxygen mask is placed on him as the doctors and surgeons filling the room begin to assess the extent of his injuries and the tourniquet wrapped tight around his left leg, where there is bone jutting out of his skin. His ribs are crushed along his left side, where it seems to have taken the brunt of the damage.

 

Yuuri suddenly starts hacking out blood, trailing down the corners of his mouth. Realisation sinks in. His ribs have punctured his lungs, and now they’re filling up with blood.

 

The beeps of the ECG machine are increasing, growing louder and louder.

 

A tube is inserted into Yuuri’s mouth leading down his throat to his lungs in order to siphon the blood out. He’d already lost so much blood, and he can’t afford to lose more. He’d need a blood transfusion.

 

* * *

 

Viktor awakes with a start, inhaling sharply as frantic, incessant knocking on the door rouses him out of his slumber. He gets up posthaste, head spinning, and alarms are going off in his head. This ugly foreboding feeling slithers up his spine as he opens the door.

 

It’s Hiroko. There are tears in her eyes. This can _not_ be good.

 

“It’s Yuuri,” she says, and it feels like his heart is being squeezed out of his chest. “He’s in the hospital.”

 

_No_.

 

* * *

 

It’s five in the morning and most of Hasetsu is still asleep, blissfully and peacefully unaware. Viktor and the Katsuki family quickly pile into the family’s white van, with Mari calm enough to drive. Viktor is sitting beside her in the passenger seat while Hiroko and Toshiya sit in the back. Hiroko is in hysterics, and Toshiya is trying his best to calm her down.

 

“Shh, shh,” he hushes, rubbing coaxing circles onto her back before he pulls her into an embrace. “He’ll be fine. He will. Our son is strong, Hiroko. Have faith.”

 

Viktor watched them quietly from the rearview mirror. The more he listened to Yuuri’s father speak, the more it seemed like the one he was currently trying to convince the most was himself. The Russian’s heart is still rapidly beating against his chest, the sound of Hiroko’s muffled crying doing absolutely naught to soothe his frazzled nerves. If anything, it made him feel even worse!

 

He’s asked over and over again for details, but the doctors hadn’t stated anything specific while they were on the phone. They called Yuuri’s mother, listed as the first emergency contact in Yuuri’s phone. They hadn’t said anything other than that Yuuri was in the hospital and that it was urgent they come to the hospital as soon as possible.

 

Viktor grew only more frustrated and fearful by the second, not knowing _what_ to expect— he felt helpless and so, so very lost. Like he was in the dark, the sound and feeling of bullets narrowly missing him by a hair’s breadth, but not knowing where the bullets were coming from in the first place.

 

He meets Mari’s gaze through the rearview mirror and she nods. “I know him,” Mari says, voice thick with unshed tears. He can see that her grip on the steering wheel is tight, knuckles white. Her hands are trembling. “Yuuri will… be alright. He _has_ to be.”

 

Viktor brings his ring to his lips and says a silent prayer.

 

* * *

 

“Where is he?!” Viktor asks— no, _demands_ — of the receptionist, who looks at him nonplussed. She says something in reply in Japanese and it’s only then when Viktor realises he’d spoken in English.

 

“Katsuki Yuuri,” he says instead, fumbling over his words. Still not very fluent in Japanese, he wracks his mind for all the words he knows he can string together and hopefully make a coherent sentence to get his point across.

 

But before he can try and rephrase it, Toshiya interjects and talks to the nurse in Japanese, the urgency and seriousness in his tone evident. Viktor hears him mention Yuuri’s name, and the nurse nods her head, typing a few keys into the computer. She reaches for the landline phone just beside the computer and makes a brief call before speaking to Toshiya again.

 

Viktor couldn’t help but growl in irritation. Why were they just standing there, _talking_? They should be with Yuuri right now! That’s what they called them over for in the first place, right? He _needed_ to see Yuuri, he needed to know his fiancé was alright.

 

To make it even worse, Viktor couldn’t understand majority of what was being said, let alone the very gist of it. He had recognised _some_ words, yes, that was to be expected— or, at least he _thought_ he did. When it came to Japanese, Viktor knew he still had his work cut out for him. Mari must have noticed something in his expression because she stepped closer to him and started to explain everything in English.

 

“Dad asked about Yuuri. The nurse called the doctors in charge and one of them will meet us soon. We just have to wait.”

 

Viktor nods, still unhappy about not being able to see Yuuri. His frosty blue eyes are downcast and he’s the only one standing while the others sit on the vibrant orange chairs lining the walls of the hospital. They were the only ones in the waiting area. His nose wrinkles. Everything smells too sterile. He clasps his hands together, bringing the ring to his lips once more.

 

_Just hold on a little longer, solnyshko moyo. My Yuuri._

 

In effort to distract himself, he watches the TV hanging overhead in the corner of the waiting area. There’s a rerun of a game show on. It doesn’t work. It does nothing to calm him down. Instead, he paces the hallway. He walks up and down the corridor, and he can’t stop thinking about what might have happened to his fiancé, and if he was alright, or if he was in any pain.

 

The scenarios his mind comes up with makes him _paranoid_. If _only_ he’d convinced Yuuri to skip the jog and stay in bed instead, it’s cold out anyway, they would both be at home right now, curled up under the duvet warm and cozy. If _only_ Viktor pulled him closer instead of letting him go. God, _why did he let him go_?

 

He snaps out of his thoughts when a doctor dressed in bloody scrubs approaches them, a solemn expression on her face. She greets the Katsukis and nods at Viktor.

 

“I’m guessing you want me to explain in English?” The doctor asks, who introduces herself as Dr. Hayashi. Her accent isn’t heavy; it sounds more American than it does Japanese.

 

“Yes, please,” Viktor says gratefully.

 

“Let’s walk,” she says, and they all follow her down the corridors. Dr. Hayashi studies the clipboard in her hand for a second before turning to Toshiya and Hiroko for a moment, expression sombre. “Your son was involved in an accident earlier this morning. A truck spun out of control and it hit him.”

 

Viktor’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Thankfully, the driver was quick to react and called emergency services.”

 

She thumbed through a few pages, some notes hastily scribbled in pen. “He suffered major blood loss and sustained many severe injuries. He’s in the operating room for surgery right now as we speak. Please do know that he is in _very_ critical condition right now. We are trying to do the best we can at this moment in order to stabilise his condition.”

 

No… _No_. His face crumples. He buries his face in his hands, doing everything he can to keep himself from breaking down right then and there.

 

“But he’ll… He’ll make it, right?” Hiroko asks. “He’ll pull through, right?”

 

A pause lingers. Viktor glances up and realises they’re near an Operating Room, the lights dimmer compared to the rest of the hospital. More quiet.

 

“We’re doing the best we can.” The doctor reiterates. It isn’t enough.

 

“Is Yuuri in there?” Viktor finds himself asking before rushing over to the Operating Room. The doctor rushes after him. Just as he’s about to glance in through the windows, the doctor reaches out and grabs his arm.

 

“You’re not supposed to go there!”

 

“ _Is he in there_?” He stubbornly asks again, insistent.

 

“Yes, he is. But you can visit him when the operation is done and he’s in recovery.”

 

Viktor clenches his fist, closes his eyes, and nods. He can hear the murmurs of doctors and nurses from inside the room. The sound of Yuuri’s heartbeat on the ECG monitor.

 

He’ll be fine. He’s fine. It’ll be alright. Viktor’s just overreacting.

 

“Just— Just give me a moment,” he says, voice pleading. He needs this. It’s this innate need in him to stay close to Yuuri. He’s inside the operating room, they’re operating on him, he’ll be fine. Right. Yes.

 

He just— he just needs to _calm down_ and go back to sitting on the orange plastic chairs with Hiroko, Toshiya and Mari. Everything is going to be okay.

 

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Dr. Hayashi is still looking at him expectantly, though not without a hint of wariness.

 

“I’m sorry, I—” he begins.

 

But that’s when he hears it.

 

The muffled speaking becomes louder and louder, turning into barked orders. Dr. Hayashi tries to pull him forward, towards the waiting area near the Operating Room; tries to pull him _away_ from Yuuri, the love of his life. He doesn’t budge. She _knows_.

 

Because above the sound of their yelling, one sound pierces through it all. A monotonous beep with no end, no hiccups of a heartbeat.

 

Yuuri was flatlining.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Hayashi, with the help of two other nurses, manage to usher Viktor away. The doctor returns to the Operating Room.

 

He can still hear their voices, though they’re more faint than ever.

 

Viktor, uncaring of anyone watching, begins to cry. Yuuri’s family tries to comfort him, but he can’t put the feeling into words. Hiroko is distraught and heartbroken. No mother should ever have to go through something like this. So as much as possible, he tries to stay strong. Not just for Yuuri, or for himself, but for his fiancé's family as well.

 

* * *

 

The moment Dr. Hayashi enters the Operating Room, the first thing she notices is the smell of blood. There’s a doctor doing CPR on Yuuri’s chest while a nurse prepares the defibrillator. She quickly pulls on a pair of gloves and wears a sanitary mask before she takes over the task.

 

The doctor doing CPR is counting under his breath. After one cycle, he glances up at the monitor, repeats.

 

Once the defibrillator is charged to 200 joules, Dr. Hayashi makes sure nothing and no one is in contact with the patient or the operating table. She rubs the gel between the paddles, standing right by Yuuri’s head.

 

“Two-hundred joules… _All clear_!”

 

She places the paddles on Yuuri’s chest, and his body jolts upwards. Nothing. She increases the charge to 300 joules and tries again. Still nothing. Last try with the defibrillator, at 360 joules.

 

“Clear!”

 

His body jerks up in response, and the doctors watch the monitor carefully. Dr. Hayashi goes on and continues the CPR, hoping that _some_ how, Yuuri Katsuki would pull through. Though, honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. It was a miracle in itself he didn’t die upon impact, let alone on the way to the hospital, especially with injuries this severe.

 

 

She continues this for a bit longer before one of her fellow doctors is trying to pull her back. There comes a time when you need to stop.  She draws her hands back, catches the glances of her colleagues before she looks down at her watch.

 

“Time of death: 6:23 AM.”

 

They stand in silence out of respect. No matter how accustomed a doctor may be to death, that doesn’t mean it stung any less, or made it less meaningful. It’s always hard to lose a patient you tried so hard to save. But sometimes... Sometimes, these things just happen. That's life. That's the  _brevity_ of life, sad to say.

 

As she moved forward to remove the electrodes from Yuuri’s chest and pull a white sheet over his body, a sound made all of them pause for a moment. She drew her hand back, trembling slightly and stared at the ECG monitor.

 

It was a fluttering heartbeat.

 

A stutter in the line. It’s barely there, but it _is_ there, and that’s what matters the most. Not all is lost.

 

“He’s alive,” a nurse gasps out.

 

Another doctor, Dr. Yamamoto, is the first one to break out of that daze and get back on track. He begins to continue doing CPR, hoping to get more blood flowing to Yuuri Katsuki’s brain.

 

They’ve been performing CPR on him since the moment he flatlined, so hopefully the patient won’t enter a vegetative state or suffer from serious brain damage even though he’s flatlined for a few minutes now. He’s fighting for his life, and there’s not a moment to waste!

Yuuri Katsuki will  _live_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! What do you think? This was originally supposed to be much more longer, including Yuuri starting recovery, but I found that it'd be too long and, perhaps, overwhelming. I'll make the chapter longer than this one next time :D Leave a comment or kudos~
> 
> I actually got this idea in my head from thinking about this band I listen to. Their band is called The Ghost Inside, and they got in a really bad bus collision a few years back. I've been following their road to recovery over the years, and they really do inspire me. Their drummer, Andrew, lost one of his legs due to the crash. But you know what? His love for music overcame. He learnt how to play the drums again, and everyone is just so supportive of TGI and it just warms my heart. They're playing this year's Warped tour. And somehow I want to convey that same love and inspiration in this story.
> 
> If there are any inaccuracies pls don't roast me just leave a constructive comment below


	3. ho paura di perderti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complications arise and Yuuri wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Stay Close To Me. It translates to "I'm afraid of losing you."

Yuuri Katsuki will always remember the first time he fell in love with the ice.

 

It was back when he was a kid, just ten years old, his chocolate brown eyes wide and filled with wonder. Sure, his childhood crush on Yuuko-chan _may_ have played a part in cultivating his interest in the sport, but there was only one person above all who made him want to pursue figure skating competitively.

 

Viktor Nikiforov.

 

For years, he had watched the Russian skate and climb to the top from behind a television screen, simply awestruck with the way Viktor moved along the ice. He didn’t just own the ice, he _commanded_ it. His movements were fluid, graceful, and effortless. Yuuri had never seen anyone more suited to be the embodiment of perfection. It made Yuuri want to meet his idol on the same level, skating on the same ice. Year after year, Viktor took home gold in all the competitions he partook, constantly surprising the judges, his fans, and Yuuri.

 

That was the thing about Viktor. He always found a way to surprise him. And through the years they’ve been together, that part of him never changed, even in life and love.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri Katsuki wakes up to a bright white light. It floods his vision, and he finds himself having to turn away, an arm raised up to cover his face. He slowly acclimatises to the brightness and eventually lowers his arm. The first thing he sees are cherry blossoms. It’s a familiar sight— the shrine his family often visited to pay respects to their relatives who have passed on.

 

The scent of incense and lilies waft through the air, a breeze rolling by. Why… Why was he here?

 

He makes his way to the side of the temple, a familiar silhouette sitting on one of the stone benches overlooking Hasetsu. No, it _can’t_ be… Can it? It can’t possibly be! Before his mind even registers it, he takes off running towards the figure.

 

“O-Obaa-san!” Yuuri calls out, bowing down at the waist as soon as he’s standing right behind her. From his peripheral vision, he can see her slowly turning around to face him.

 

“Yuuri? Yuu-chan, is that really _you_?” She asks, eyes wide. “Why, you’re all grown up!”

 

Then her expression quickly shifts from surprise, joy, to worry. “Yuuri, what are you doing here?”

 

Yuuri furrows his brows. “I don’t know.”

 

“It’s too early for you to be here, my child,” she says, taking his hand into hers. She scoots to the side and he takes a seat beside her. Yuuri glances down and he can see all the years in the wrinkles of her hands, still so soft and delicate the way he remembered when he was—

 

When he was a _child_.

 

His chocolate brown eyes widen. “Obaa-san…” Did— Did something happen to him? Or was this a weird prophetic dream of sorts? W-Was he…

 

“It’s alright, Yuu-chan. It’s not yet your time,” Obaa-san coaxes, an easy smile on her face. Yuuri can smell her favourite floral perfume on her and undertones of the herbal menthol balm she often uses, the scent of which would go on to linger around the inn for months even after she was gone. He recalls the days he would come home from school and she would teach him the many traditional dances she knew how to perform. When she passed away when he was six, he took up ballet lessons with Minako-sensei. Obaa-san begins to hum the tune of a lullaby she always sang to him, and it finally it sinks in just how much Yuuri had missed his grandmother over the years. Tears are running down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, and his grip on her weathered hands sporadically tightening.

 

“Ah, don’t cry, Yuu-chan! We’ll see each other again. But it better not be _soon_ , hear me?”

 

He nods, eyes still squeezed shut. “Y-Yes, obaa-san!”

 

“No coming back here anytime soon, alright?” She says, a playful lilt to her tone. “I’m so proud of you, Yuu-chan.”

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes, he no longer sees the view of Hasetsu from the temple. Obaa-san is gone and the loss hits him harder than he expected. He had so many things to say to her..! He never got to say goodbye—

 

Yuuri blinks in confusion. Was he… lying on ice? He glances to the side and he finds himself lying down on an ice rink, the walls unmarked by sponsorships and unrecognisable. The spotlights are on, shining down on the ice while everything is enshrouded in darkness. It’s quiet and barren, and the scent of lilies seem to follow him. And no wonder, the flowers are scattered all over the ice, especially dense in thick clusters around the outer edges of the rink. It reminds him of the bouquets thrown down to him whenever he finished a performance.

 

Speaking of which… He tentatively rises up and realises he already has his skates on. For some reason, he’s wearing one of his old costumes, the blue one he wore for his first pair skate with Viktor during the 2016 Grand Prix Final exhibition. He picks a white lily up and begins to skate slow circles around the rink, not sure what to make of it. The scent of flowers seem to get headier with each passing second. There is a draft in the room and the lilies flutter about. Yuuri tosses the bloom to the side and skates faster, in order to get enough speed and momentum. He attempts a jump. He misses his landing and trips, skidding all the way to the outer edges of the rink as he crashes, his fall partially cushioned by the lilies underneath him.

 

“Yuuri.”

 

He flinches, glancing up. Viktor is standing over him in his costume too, a gentle smile on his face and a hand stretched out towards him. Yuuri smiles gratefully and takes the hand, and the Russian helps him up.

 

“Ah, thank you…” Yuuri says, a tinge of sheepishness in his tone as he rubs the back of his neck. He shouldn’t have flubbed that jump. It was a triple axel, and he’d come to perfect that jump in practise numerous times already. To his mild surprise, however, Viktor doesn’t start nitpicking how he’d messed up the jump and what he should’ve done differently.

 

“It’s time to go home now,” Viktor says, firmly placing his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

 

The Japanese skater stares at him for a moment, then nods. With a suddenness and a force he didn’t expect, he feels as if he’s roughly shoved back. His chest aches in more ways than one. Chocolate brown eyes wide in shock and confusion and _hurt_ glance up and meet icy blue ones. Viktor’s face is grim— but his eyes, his _eyes_. They’re filled with tears. They’re saying so much more than what Yuuri can keep up with in that moment.

 

“V-Viktor..?” The younger stammers out, a hand reaching up to clutch at his chest. It feels like it’s burning.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor says, before another flash of pain seizes Yuuri’s chest. He’s panicking and it seems like Viktor is moving farther and farther away from him, even though he isn’t moving at all. “It’s for your own good.”

 

“Viktor, I don’t understand— What did I do wrong? What’s going on?” He exclaims, running his hands through his hair. He steps back and he hits the barrier surrounding the rink. He’s right beside the exit port of the rink, but he all he sees is unfathomable black.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, right in front of him once again. They’re standing close, _so close_ to each other, Yuuri can see every stroke of colour in Viktor’s eyes. It’s beautiful, it’s overwhelming, and the very sight of it leaves him speechless. He’s enamoured, yet so, so terribly confused. The Russian reaches down and takes Yuuri’s hand into his own, giving the Japanese skater’s engagement ring a kiss. It glints under the lights shining down on them. A tear runs down Viktor’s cheek. “Don’t go.”

 

Yuuri startles, reaching up to wipe the tears away. “Viktor, don’t cry! Please? I don’t understand, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“But you _are_ , Yuuri. You’re leaving me.”

 

“I’m not!” He exclaims, a bit louder. He moves to hug Viktor but the Russian steps away, much to Yuuri’s dismay. “Viktor, I— You want me to stay, but why are you pushing me away? Please, just talk to me!”

 

“You have to let go.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Yuuri, please, you can’t stay here— in order to hold on, you have to let go. Just trust me, baby. Please?”  


The words that leave Viktor’s lips are enigmatic as ever and Yuuri didn’t know what to make of them. But he trusted Viktor with everything. _Everything_. His skating, his life, his fragile glass heart. Even if Viktor ever shattered his heart again, he’d still love the Russian with every broken piece. He could tell by the look in Viktor’s eyes that he didn’t want Yuuri asking any questions on this, that he didn’t want to argue with him about it anymore, and that he wanted the Japanese skater to just— to just _trust_ him and have faith in him. So Yuuri did.

 

“Okay,” Yuuri says finally. “I’ll let go.”

 

“I love you, Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

Yuuri winces as his pain reverberates throughout his chest once again, stumbling out of the exit to the rink, plunging into the bottomless, never-ending darkness. He’s falling, falling, falling…

 

He shuts his eyes and waits for the crash, but it never seems to come. Somewhere along the line, he forgets where he had began to fall and it blurs into where, perhaps, he would meet his end.

 

It never comes.

 

It had petrified him at first, but in his continuous free fall into the vast nothingness, he remembers the words Viktor had said to him and truly lets go. He’s had a good life. He feels tranquility and peace, much like how he felt on the ice. He has been falling for so long, he begins to think he isn’t falling at all, and that he’s floating.

 

Yuuri suddenly feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over him. It sends terrible chills straight down to the marrow of his bones, and he’s aching and quivering all over.

 

_“He’s alive!”_

 

His limbs feel heavy, like there’s something tethering him to something, dragging him down. It’s not free falling anymore, it’s something forcing him to sink. He just feels so— so _tired_. He can feel himself settling into his tired bones.

 

A sharp inhale, a desperate gasp for air.

 

He breathes.

 

* * *

 

He made it.

 

He pulled through.

 

And it breaks Viktor’s heart knowing he come so close to losing Yuuri forever.

 

He hasn’t left Yuuri’s side _once_ the moment Dr. Hayashi had allowed them to see him. After Yuuri’s first operation, he was transferred to the ICU so he could be closely monitored. For the first few hours, they all stayed there, sitting around Yuuri’s deathly pale body, silent— save for the sobs of anguish and relief wracking Hiroko’s frame. Mari eventually drove Hiroko and Toshiya back to Yu-Topia around half an hour ago.

 

The moment they left, their footsteps growing fainter as they made their way down the hall, Viktor started to cry. His thoughts overwhelmed him. He was so close. So _close_. So close to never getting to see Yuuri _breathe_ again. So close to never having another chance to see the smile on his face. So close to never being able to hear his voice anymore. So close to never seeing the way his chocolate brown eyes light up the room again. So close to losing Yuuri forever.

 

All these little things Viktor hadn’t realised he’d somewhat taken for granted. Because honestly, the thought of life without Yuuri Katsuki— in _this_ way— had never crossed his mind. He doesn’t _want_ to know. Viktor would’ve never been ready to say goodbye; no, he never _will_. He can’t stand the thought of being apart from him, so what more… what more death?

 

He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

 

Viktor softly strokes the back of Yuuri’s right hand, their engagement rings glinting softly in the sunlight steaming in through the room’s shutters. His tears fall freely. He wants to run his hand through Yuuri’s hair, as he always used to do, but he sees the bandages wrapped around Yuuri’s head and decides against it.

 

Yuuri just looked so… so _fragile_ , like a single careless movement could break him— and as much as possible, Viktor didn’t want to risk accidentally hurting him. He’s already been through so much. Without the morphine, he knew his fiancé would be in _so much pain_.

 

Instead, he brings Yuuri’s hand up and studies it carefully, before kissing each of his fingertips. Yuuri’s left arm had been broken, and was set in a cast.

 

“I don’t know how long you’ll be asleep,” Viktor begins, wincing as his voice cracks. “And I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but I hope you know that I will _always_ be here by your side. I promise I won’t let you out of my sight.”

 

He pauses, takes a deep breath. “When you wake up, let’s get married. Have I kept you waiting for too long, _solnyshko moyo_?”

 

And he is met with silence.

 

He exhales slowly, placing Yuuri’s warm hand atop his own. He has such small hands. “We can have a wedding by Hasetsu’s beach. Sound nice? Or maybe you’d want to get married on the ice. That’s where it all started, right? You can have anything, _any_ thing you want. I just want to hear your voice again. I miss you. I love you.”

 

Viktor stays there like that with him for a few minutes, memorising the details of Yuuri’s face, mottled with cuts and scrapes and bruises. Amidst all this, the sound of rhythmic beeps coming from the ECG fill the room. It soothes Viktor, to an extent. Because Yuuri is still breathing. He’s still here with him, even though he isn’t.

 

* * *

 

Viktor has a lot of things to think about and he knows it.

 

He knows Yuuri’s health is the first priority, the only forefront that matters to Viktor at this point. But they had prior commitments and plans. And as much as he wants to focus all of his attention on his fiancé, these obligations couldn’t be ignored.

 

First there was the matter of the upcoming Grand Prix Final. He and Yuuri had both qualified, of course, but the final competition itself was merely a month away. Yuuri certainly wouldn’t be ready to skate, and as his coach, Viktor didn’t want to jeopardise Yuuri’s health by forcing his body to keep up with the strenuous routine. This, hypothetically speaking, of course.

 

But Viktor…

 

This was supposed to be his final season. One last grand moment to bask in all he’s ever known for most of his life. Or, well, _tentatively_ his final season, before he would retire to coaching Yuuri full-time.

 

He could never leave Yuuri’s side. Not like _this_. Not when the Japanese skater, though stable, was fighting for his life! Not when he was suffering and in pain!

 

Viktor leans back on the soft green armchair beside Yuuri’s bed and silently considers his options, lacing his fingers with Yuuri’s. Deep down, he knew he only had one choice. He’d have to forfeit his position in the Grand Prix Final. He’ll stay here by Yuuri’s side through recovery, and maybe Viktor can bounce back at Worlds or Four Continents. The Russian nationals is two weeks after the GPF, so that’s out of the question. He’ll have to call Yakov, let him know what’s happened.

 

But if it came down to it, he’d officially retire so he could take better care of Yuuri. In a heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s been scheduled for leg surgery around two in the afternoon, so Viktor decided he’d head to Yu-Topia in the meantime so he could pack an overnight bag. He caught a bus on the way home and by the time he got there, it was nearing four PM, the sky slowly turning orange and pink.

 

He steps inside the inn, a sigh escaping his lips. Hiroko greets him at the door, a tired smile on her face and a basket of freshly washed towels in her hands. “Hi, Vicchan. How is he?”

 

Viktor returns the smile with one of his own, slipping his shoes off before setting it down on one of the shoe racks. “He’s,” he pauses. Yuuri certainly isn’t _fine_ right now, is he? He swallows, his brows furrowing. “He’s _stable_. He’s in surgery right now, actually. For his leg.”

 

She nods. “That’s good. Are you hungry, Vicchan? I’ll prepare some food for you, alright?”

 

“Yes. Thank you. I—” He takes a deep breath, glancing around the room. Everything is the same, but it feels a little emptier, a little colder. But Viktor suspected it had something more to do with Yuuri’s absence more than the weather itself. “I’ll just take a shower, eat, and go.”

 

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll stay at the hospital with Yuuri. As much as possible, I don’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

 

“Ah, I understand. Just rest up first, okay?” She pauses to give him a comforting smile. “The doctors will take care of him.”

 

Viktor nods his head before making his way to the bedroom he shared with Yuuri. Makkachin is sleeping atop the bed, but startles awake when he hears Viktor’s footsteps. He jumps off the bed, yipping happily as he approaches the Russian, tail wagging.

 

“Hi, Makkachin,” Viktor greets, getting down on his knees as he pet the dog. Makkachin’s tail wags even more. He pushes his face into Viktor’s hand. “Sorry, Makka, I’ll have to leave for a few days. I’ll come back when I can, alright?”

 

He pauses; gulps. He thinks of earlier this morning, when he and Yuuri were bundled up under the covers, Makkachin by their feet. His thoughts take him back to the hospital, the panicking, the sobs and screaming, the sound of Yuuri’s flatlining cutting through it all— Viktor glances down at Makkachin, his face contorted into one of pain.

 

“Yuuri got into an accident this morning.”

 

It all happened so soon.

 

“So I’ll be at the hospital with him until he gets better, alright?”

 

Makkachin’s ears perk up and Viktor briefly wonders if the poodle is trying to comprehend his words. His tail is still wagging, thumping against the floorboards. Viktor smiles and presses a kiss to the dog’s forehead before getting up.

 

He takes a shaky breath and tries to compose himself.

 

Right.

 

He needs to be strong for Yuuri. Yuuri needs him right now, and he can’t— Now isn’t the right time to be weak.

 

He gets to work immediately, packing his bags as if on auto-pilot. He packs Yuuri’s things in too, tosses in a couple of books Yuuri might like to read if he woke up. Viktor stills, almost flinching at the thought.

 

No, not if.

 

_When_.

 

_When_ he woke up.

 

Shaking _those_ thoughts out of his head, he continues packing their things, filling two big duffel bags with their things. His movements are automatic, purposeful. Then he takes a brisk shower, still distracted by the thoughts of what had transpired today. Right. He needed to call Yakov. Maybe he’d text his coach for now, then follow up with a call when he’s at the hospital again.

 

He grabs his bags, hoisting them over his shoulders, and takes one last glance at the bedroom. Makkachin jumps off the bed and makes his way down the hall, tail upright. Viktor shuts the door behind him. When he gets to the dining area, Hiroko’s already prepared food for him. He smiles at her gratefully before eating the curry rice, though he doesn’t have that much of an appetite. He realises he’s eating alone for the first time in a while so he decides to text Yakov. He pulls his phone out and stares at the screen. His screensaver is a picture of Yuuri carrying Makkachin like a baby (a very big, very furry baby) back in their apartment in St. Petersburg. His fiancé is wearing one of his striped shirts and he’s beaming at the camera. Viktor’s face falls as he unlocks his phone and opens up his Messages app, sending a text to Yakov.

 

**VN: Yakov, I need to talk to you soon. It’s urgent. I’ll call you when I can.**

 

Yakov’s reply is almost instantaneous.

 

**YF: What’s going on Vitya?**

**VN: I can’t talk about it right now. But it’s about Yuuri.**

**YF: Is everything alright?**

 

Viktor sets his phone down momentarily, tears stinging the back of his eyes and threatening to fall. He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat and takes deep breaths; wills himself to calm down.

 

 **VN: That’s the thing  
** **VN: I don’t know  
** **VN: I’ll talk to you later**

 

He shuts his phone screen off and lowers it down to his side, staring at the half-finished bowl of curry rice, but not really seeing it. He finds himself lost in his thoughts for a moment before he finally snaps out of it and continues eating. Not thirty minutes later, he bids Hiroko, Toshiya and Mari goodbye before making his way out of the inn.

 

* * *

 

When he gets back to the hospital, Yuuri is still in surgery. Viktor goes ahead and tries to make things more comfortable for when Yuuri wakes up, if only just a bit. He sets the books down on the table by Yuuri’s bed, goes ahead and charges his phone (which he’s temporarily shut off), sets his Makkachin tissue box on the other table by the bed. Just as he’s about to retrieve their toiletries, there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Come in,” Viktor says, partially distracted as he strides over to the en suite to set their things down.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” a voice calls out, and the aforementioned Russian stills.

 

“Yes?” Is his response, turning to face Dr. Hayashi. Her expression is grim and Viktor’s heart skips a beat. His brows furrow together as he steps towards her. His thoughts are running through his head a mile a minute. They’re dark thoughts, ones he’d rather not entertain, but he can’t help it. He’s scared and it shows. “Is there something wrong?”

 

“We have a problem.” Dr. Hayashi says slowly, now more cautious. “Mr. Katsuki is stable, but his left leg…”

 

“What about his leg?”

 

“Well, it’s— Basically, his leg was crushed upon impact. His femur, or his thigh bone, is broken, but his lower leg is… worse. There is very poor blood circulation to his leg. We’re doing the best we can, but at this rate, the tissues will soon begin to deteriorate and he’ll stand the risk of getting an infection. The chances of saving his lower leg are very slim.”

 

“So what do you suggest?”

 

She hesitates a moment before continuing, “Unfortunately, we may have to amputate his left leg.”

 

_What?_

 

“We can still save as much of the healthy tissue as we can, Mr. Nikiforov, before it gets worse. Given the circumstances, it’s our best course of action. Of course, we will guide the both of you through recovery after the amputation. We will refer you to a prosthetist and a psychiatrist for counselling after…”

 

Viktor’s vision swims. He drowns the doctor’s words out until it sounds like he’s underwater. _Amputation._ Was it really that… Stupid question, of course it was severe. But could it really not be saved anymore? _Yuuri_. He thinks of how he almost lost Yuuri in the early hours of the morning.

 

This.

 

This was better than death.

 

This would be the _best_ course of action for him.

 

Viktor just needed some time to wrap his head around it. And when Yuuri wakes up, he’ll convince the younger man that this decision was for the best, yes. They’ll get through this together. Viktor will be there for him every step of the way.

 

“ _Mr. Nikiforov?_ ”

 

He snaps out of his thoughts and his gaze refocuses itself on Dr. Hayashi. “Come again?”

 

She goes on to discuss forms of consent for the procedure. Viktor nods along, following her to her office. He calls Yuuri’s parents, relays the intended course of action. With a slight tremor in his hand, he signs the form in lieu of Yuuri.

 

He seals his fiancé’s fate.

 

* * *

 

Viktor calls Yakov that evening. The bed beside him is still empty. He doesn’t bother to sit beside it, and instead, he paces. It’s… _difficult_ getting the words out at first, but the moment he finally speaks, it’s as if a dam has broken. He can’t help it; nor can he help the tears that stream down his face.

 

His heart breaks all over again just _thinking_ about it, but thankfully Yakov doesn’t push him for any additional details, nor does he try to convince Vitya otherwise to continue competing in the GPF. Instead, he gives wishes Yuuri a full recovery. In return, Vitya extends his regards to the other Russian skaters who’ll be competing in the GPF.

 

He hangs up the phone and all is silent again. It’s haunting, suffocating. He tries to fill in the silence by turning the TV on, going through the different channels. Initially, his eyes are half-lidded with tiredness and he’s ready to doze off again, but he sees something— _something_ — on the screen that immediately captures his attention and seizes his chest in a vice-like grip. His heartbeat stutters.

 

It was the local news. There are pictures of an accident that transpired early this morning, and Viktor _knows_. He just does. He knows, he knows, he _knows_ that **_this_** is the accident that nearly took Yuuri’s life.

 

It was a red delivery truck that had barrelled into him. There were pictures shown of the vehicle, having come to a halt only when its momentum was disrupted because it hit two lampposts and nearly crashed through the barrier that separated the pedestrian lane from Hasetsu’s rocky shore. Then there were pictures of the spot where Yuuri had been found, identified as an ‘unnamed victim’, and the pool of blood and ice heavily pixelated.

 

He barely reacts when his phone starts blowing up with notifications soon after. He turns to the bedside table, where he’d left his phone and gives the screen a glance-over. He sets it to ‘Do Not Disturb’ and decides to deal with it tomorrow morning. He has a tuna sandwich for dinner, one he bought from the cafeteria downstairs, and when he goes back to Yuuri’s room, he lays down on the couch facing the opposite side of the bed and stares at the dark ceiling.

 

The doctors operate on Yuuri throughout the night.

 

* * *

 

There is a video of Yuuri that goes viral on Facebook the next day, in the very worst way. It was a phone recording of a computer monitor of the CCTV cameras replaying the very moment Yuuri was hit by that truck. It could be seen from four different angles, four different CCTV cameras. The footage itself is greyscale and slightly fuzzy, but in one of them, you can see a clear shot of Yuuri’s face as he jogs down the sidewalk.

 

And from four different angles, a truck aquaplanes across the damp ice and slams into Yuuri, throwing the skater several feet away. He’s out of the shot in all of them.

 

Though there obviously hasn’t been any confirmation from Yuuri’s side, there are already speculations popping up all over gossip sites. It drives Viktor livid, seeing them pick apart what happened for their entertainment. The news spreads like wildfire and soon his phone is pinging incessantly with messages from Yuri, Christophe, Phichit, and the other skaters in their community. He’s too angry to respond to their messages of well wishes and condolences, so instead, he calls Yakov and talks damage control. Viktor ends up publishing an official statement on his Instagram, not only as Yuuri’s coach but as his fiancé. The picture is all black, and his statement is found below in the caption.

 

[image]

**♥ 528,703 likes**

**v-nikiforov** There is no easy way to say this, but I just wanted to confirm firsthand, that yes, Yuuri was involved in an accident in Hasetsu yesterday. Because of this, we will no longer be participating in the GPF so Yuuri can make a full recovery. At this time, I humbly request that our privacy be respected regarding the matter. Please send positive thoughts his way, we are both in need of it right now! Thank you. - Viktor Nikiforov

 

After having something to eat, he finally gets around to responding to the text messages and missed calls that have inundated his phone. He waits.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is wheeled back to his room around ten AM. When he is carefully transferred to the bed, Viktor stands aside as the doctors and nurses go about reattaching wires to the ECG monitor. His IV drip is hooked back up to the hook by the small metal post by the headboard of his bed, where a nurse injects a shot of morphine. She checks the newly amputated limb, swathed with gauze, before glancing up at Viktor.

 

“I’ll come by every once in a while to change his bandages. If you need anything, just press the button over there,” and she motions to the small red button by Yuuri’s bed. Viktor nods in acknowledgement and soon after, the nurse takes her leave.

 

As soon as she exits the room, Viktor strides over to Yuuri’s unconscious form and sits by his side. He brushes Yuuri’s hair away from his face where it isn’t covered by bandages and gingerly presses a chaste kiss to his temple.

 

By midday, gift baskets, cards, and bouquets from their friends start to pour in and the room looks much more cheerful with the vibrant, colourful flowers. He holds Yuuri’s hand, reads the contents of the cards out loud to him, but Yuuri isn’t awake to hear it.

 

Viktor avoids looking at Yuuri’s lower limbs that day.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the next ten days, Yuuri is in and out of surgery, not once waking up. Viktor spends most of those days by his bedside, his guilty expression oft lingering on Yuuri’s left leg— or what was left of it, rather. They managed to save his thigh, which was in a cast so the femur bone could heal properly. The doctors had amputated Yuuri’s lower left leg shortly after Viktor signed the forms of consent.

 

Viktor wonders if he made the right decision, even if it was the _best_ decision.

 

When he isn’t by Yuuri’s side, he’s in talks with Dr. Hayashi and Dr. Yamamoto. The latter refers him to a prosthetist in a private hospital all the way in Tokyo. He’s one of the best in the country, Dr. Yamamoto says, and Viktor obliges to have him contacted, no expense spared. Together they go through the plan for Yuuri’s recovery. Once Yuuri is strong enough, he will undergo physical therapy and counselling. They’ll take it step-by-step at their own pace.

 

He is taken by surprise when he comes back and sees Yuri standing at the foot of Yuuri’s bed, a stuffed tiger tucked under his arm.

 

“ _Privyet_ ,” Viktor says, barely able to mask the tiredness in his voice. He casts a bemused glance at the blond. “Aren’t you supposed to be training for the Grand Prix Final, Yura?”

 

The smaller Russian turns to him, his brows knit together. “I am, but I wanted to stop by and see how Katsudon was doing. Yakov gave me two days off.”

 

Viktor manages a smile, motioning to the stuffed toy. “Is that for him?”

 

“It’s fucking stupid,” Yuri murmurs, gaze hesitantly flickering to Yuuri’s left leg for a second before he averts his gaze. He steps forward and places the stuffed tiger holding a bowl of katsudon in its front paws by Yuuri’s side. He doesn’t react. “It was really bad, wasn’t it?”

 

“ _Da_. He nearly died. Thankfully, the doctors were able to revive him.”

 

A silence falls between them, Yuri fidgeting uncomfortably.

 

“What is it, Yura?” Viktor prompts, taking a seat on the couch.

 

Yuri does not respond immediately, but when Viktor opens his mouth to speak, Yuri cuts him off. “What happens now?”

 

“What do you mean?” Viktor keeps his voice level.

 

Yuri turns to him, eyes narrowed. “You _know_ what I mean.”

 

At this, the older skater heaves a sigh, leaning back into the cushions. He turns to his fiancé and his gaze softens. “I don’t know. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

 

Yuri stares at him, an undecipherable look in his eyes. “…Right.”

 

Yura’s shaken, Viktor can tell, but he opts not to mention it out loud. Because behind every curse word and every sharp remark Yuri makes, Viktor can see a sliver of worry?— fear?— hidden within the depths of his green eyes. The blond spends the entirety of those two days sans travelling time by Yuuri’s side. He and Viktor speak to each other in hushed Russian of the future, of what was to come; of what had transpired and whom they had nearly lost. Once again, Viktor is reminded of how much Yuri’s grown as an individual. He’s matured a lot over the past two years, but he’s still every inch the Russian punk he claims to be. No, that part of him’s never changed.

 

Viktor takes the time to drop Yuri off at the airport and bid him farewell. Yuri would be flying straight to Europe for the Grand Prix Final in approximately two weeks.

 

“When Yuuri wakes up, I’ll make sure to tell him you came by,” says Viktor, giving the blond a small wave goodbye. His lips form a small heart-shaped smile. “Have a safe flight, Yurio! We’ll be rooting for you in the Grand Prix Finals.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri says automatically, shoving a hand into the pocket of his hoodie. He glances down, face flushed a very light, a very faint red. He flicks his other hand upwards in a nonchalant wave of his own. “ _Dosvidaniya_. Tell the piggy to keep his head up.”

 

Viktor nods at this, still smiling. “ _Da_ , I will. _Dosvidaniya_.”

 

* * *

 

It was strange.

 

Yuuri knew he was awake, yet somehow it seemed as if his eyelids were lined with lead. He felt as if every part of him was being weighed down, like the heaviness you feel when you step out of the pool after swimming for an extended period of time. There was a dull ache that spread throughout his limbs, his head, his chest— muted, subdued. Not really there, but he could _feel_ it. Undercurrents. He just couldn’t seem to move or open his eyes. He felt _restrained_ for some reason. He didn’t know why.

 

His thoughts are a mess. He can’t make any sense of it. It’s like white noise to him, and any effort he puts into trying to piece the frangible parts together in his mind fails and falls apart.

 

Was he really awake or was he merely dreaming he was awake? Was it a lucid dream?

 

He tries to keep a hold on himself, but it’s proving to be difficult for him. He hears beeps, even and rhythmic. He hears murmurs of people speaking, but his mind doesn’t even register what language they’re speaking in. It’s all background noise with white noise in the forefront.

 

It lulls him back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Much to contrary belief, it doesn’t happen all at once. The second time he awakes, it only lasts for a brief moment. He registers the sound of beeping, and it echoes all around him. He doesn’t feel any pain anymore— but instead, he feels the warmth of something (some _one_ perhaps) touching his hand. He hears more murmuring, the sound of voices, but he can’t pin down exactly _who it is_ that’s speaking.

 

The occurrence repeats itself intermittently. Each time he is more awake, more _aware_ than he was the previous time. This time around, he can feel the presence of other people in the room talking. He feels wet cloth sliding over his bare skin and it makes him want to squirm in discomfort, but he can’t. He finds himself unable to move. When the cloth brushes over his face, he feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s being violated, and, Kami-sama, he _hates_ being touched. He still can’t seem to open his eyes or even open his mouth in order to protest.

 

* * *

 

The nth time Yuuri comes to, he doesn’t doubt himself. He _is_ awake and he knows it. He hears the beeping again, but apart from that, it’s quiet. The white noise is gone. His lids still feel heavy, but not as heavy as it was before. It takes every ounce of effort in him to open his eyes, and when he does, he is met with an unfamiliar white ceiling to an unfamiliar room, painted a soft orange with the sunlight streaming in through a window beside him.

 

To say Yuuri is nonplussed is an understatement. He feels downright _lost_ and a little bit scared. He racks through his mind for the last thing he can remember and he panics as he struggles to remember what he remembers. It’s terrible.

 

The beeping increases in speed, more jittery now. _Just like Yuuri_.

 

And that’s when he realises that he is in the hospital. He’s hooked up to a heart monitor, he’s in the hospital, and he _has no idea why_. He glances to his side and sees the ECG monitor echoing the patterns of his increasingly erratic heartbeat. He tries to sit up, but just moving his _fingers_ is a struggle.

 

He squints at the monitor, eyes flickering to the sun for just a moment, shining into his eyes. The bright light floods his sight, reminiscent of something, something, _something_ —

 

He flinches, turning away.

 

And that’s when it all comes flooding back to him. His eyes widen in panic. He _remembers now_.

 

The piercing cold. Jogging in Hasetsu. His free skate song. Tires squealing, a truck skidding, a blinding light, _pain_ , _so much pain_ —

 

He is overcome with this urge to flee. He didn’t want to be here, he just— Just not _here_ , he didn’t— He can’t— He has to leave. _Now_.

 

He’s panicking, his breaths rising up and down too quickly for his lungs to keep up with. It’s starting to sting. Yuuri desperately scrabbles up, noticing that his left arm is in a cast. He holds onto the rail beside his bed with his free hand and— _fuck, that hurts_ — sits up. He whimpers as he peels the wires off of his body and panics when he sees the IV connected to his right arm. He absolutely _hates_ needles. Never mind that. He’ll have to deal with it.

 

He throws the covers off and that’s when Yuuri sees it. Half of his left leg is gone, covered in white bandages and ending just right below the knee. His heart is racing. There a million thoughts running through his mind, none of them— not a _single_ one— pleasant. For him, it’s the end.

 

He barely registers the fact he’s started screaming. Yuuri is in a full-blown fit of hysterics, and several doctors and nurses immediately rush in. They’re trying to placate him, to coax him, to calm him down with words and insistent pushes, but it goes through one ear and out the other. The boy is inconsolable. He’s sobbing before his body’s had the chance to react, then within seconds, tears are running down his face in rivulets.

 

Someone wraps their arms around him in a tight embrace, and Yuuri instinctively squirms before he realises that, _yes_ , it’s Viktor, and immediately moves to hug him back with his free arm, hand quivering.

 

A choked sob escapes Yuuri’s lips, burying his face into Viktor’s chest and clinging onto him like a lifeline. At this point, Viktor _was_ his lifeline. The Russian pulls him in even closer, Yuuri’s left arm in its cast uncomfortably situated between them. Viktor runs his hands through Yuuri’s hair, mumbling soothing words into his ear sotto voce despite the tears running down his own cheeks.

 

_Please, please, please let this be a bad dream._

 

_Please tell me this isn’t real._

 

_Please, let me just wake up again._

 

_This can’t be happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! Ahhh so I finally got to update, sorry it took a while! I guess I should mention that I'm used to writing long chapters (I usually cap mine around 10-12k words per chapter), so it kinda takes me longer to update. I'll try updating more frequently though! I got sidetracked by school too T u T I'm supposed to be studying for my back-to-back exams for Business Law right now yet here I am lolol
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on my tumblr [ragdoll youth](http://ragdollyouth.tumblr.com) !!
> 
> Thank u for all ur kudos and comments! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Pls continue leaving kudos and comments lolol they give me life ♡


	4. i know that even with the seams stitched tightly, darling, scars will remain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it all falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Nobody, Not Even The Rain by La Dispute

They sedated him.

 

Before he even had the chance to get to Yuuri, to _truly_ calm him down, the nurse had gone ahead and given his fiancé a sedative.

 

Viktor couldn’t do anything but watch as Yuuri’s movements grew more sluggish and ragged, chemical disorientation saturating the fabric of his consciousness. Panicked words die on the tip of his tongue as he slumps against Viktor’s chest, and albeit reluctantly, Viktor had let him go in order to give the nurse ample berth to reattach various wires to Yuuri’s body; to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently aggravated his injuries or jostled the intravenous needle in his arm.

 

As if he could read Viktor’s expression, Dr. Yamamoto casts an apologetic glance at him. “We had to,” he says, “or else he could have hurt himself.”

 

Viktor didn’t want for it to have to come to _this_ , not when Yuuri was finally awake after so long. In fact, it was the longest he’s gone without hearing Yuuri’s voice since he came to Hasetsu for the first time. And he never wanted it to _happen like this_ , let alone fucking happen at _all_. He never should’ve left his side, he should have been in the room **_with him_**. The _one time_ Yuuri needed him the most, he was downstairs in the cafeteria getting something to eat.

 

And what he hated was, he knew he couldn’t do _anything_ about it— at least, not now. Not in this moment. He felt utterly frustrated he couldn’t help Yuuri the way he wanted to. He hated feeling helpless, useless. But despite all this, Viktor understood _why_ it needed to be done. Not just the sedation, but the operation on Yuuri’s leg, the amputation needed in order to save it.

 

Yet, still, there was this niggling voice in the back of his head _constantly berating him_.

 

_You did this,_ it would say. _You made him go on those four AM jogs. You_ ** _let_** _him go, and this is what happened._

 

The thoughts, they burn, they _pain_ him. But he makes little conscious effort to dismiss the dangerous thoughts fomenting in his head. Because in a way, he wants to _feel_ the pain. He wants to feel the hurt Yuuri had gone through. _Is_ going through. _Will_ go through— possibly, for the rest of his life.

 

But if Viktor _could_. He swears, if _he could_. He would take on all the burden by himself instead.

 

* * *

 

It’s the middle of the night when Yuuri awakes many hours later. The only light on is the one by the entrance to the room, mostly boxed in by the small entryway. Other than that, the rest of the room is engulfed in dark. He sees shapes and lines beginning to form on the ceiling, swirling around and swimming before his vision. He hears the monotonous _beep, beep, beep_ of his heart on the ECG machine. The low whir of the air-conditioning unit.

 

He glances to his right and sees Viktor curled up on the seat beside him. Despite the dimness of the room, the fluorescent light still outlines the silhouette of Viktor’s frame. Yuuri blinks, and he can’t quite recall the last time he had seen the Russian look so small.

 

Yuuri wants to speak. He wants to say something, but he daren’t wake Viktor up. So he glances up at the ceiling once more, his face expressionless. He lays waste to his thoughts. He thinks about the accident, and he can’t really _remember_ what exactly happened last time he may have been awake, but he _thinks_ he remembers… panicking.

 

_Over what?_

 

Over **something**.

 

A— A part of him that was no longer _there_.

 

Physically or mentally, who knows? Could be both. Probably is both.

 

His heartbeat stutters in anxiousness. He feels the burning curiosity to sit up and glance under the covers to _finally_ get to the bottom of things, but he does his best to quell the urge. _Tomorrow morning,_ he resolves.

 

Yuuri hopes and he wishes and he prays that _all_ of it was just a figment of his imagination. It _had_ to be. It **_has_** to be.

 

Or else.

 

( _Or else what?_ a part of him thinks.)

 

_Or else,_ he reiterates.

 

He turns away from Viktor the moment he feels the back of his eyes starting to sting, even though the Russian wasn’t even awake to see him. It hurts to _think_.

 

(And his heart is beating out of his chest, and it _shows_ , and you can _hear it_ , and you can _see it_ on the ECG monitor, but Viktor still doesn’t wake, and nobody hears the sobs coming from Yuuri’s mouth, and at the same time he _hates_ it because he _needs_ someone, but he doesn’t want them to see him like this, and he just wishes that all of this would end already, and that it was just some drug-induced hallucination, or some fucked up nightmare, and—)

 

Yuuri cries himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri dreams that night.

 

He dreams of being on the ice, the wind he gathers blowing through his hair, zephyrs navigating their way through his outstretched fingers. He reaches before him, looking for something, longing. He does not know what for, but he can feel it. He can feel the sunlight pouring in through the windows of the Ice Castle as he skates figures of eight onto the ice.

 

He glides across the rink, gradually picking up speed, before performing a triple axel followed by a quad Salchow. He dances across the ice to an invisible rhythm, feet moving of their own accord to a beat unheard, before he goes and arches his back into the graceful arc of an Ina Bauer and closes in on a combination spin.

 

It’s just him and the ice. He feels _free_ in a way. Like there’s nothing holding him back. There are no judges, no one in the stands. There are no obligations or criterion for him to reach. And when he skates, he does so with a fluidity that comes with confidence.

 

But it doesn’t last.

 

The feeling doesn’t last.

 

It’s ephemeral, something only captured for one quick moment before it is truly lost.

 

At a point, he stops skating and his eyelids flutter close. He’s standing in the middle of the rink, trying to catch his breath. His arms are outstretched, and he tries to take everything in before he opens his eyes and—

 

He finds himself staring at a whitewashed ceiling.

 

(This is where it all falls apart.)

 

Yuuri finds that he wakes easily, as one would after a short nap, and again he is initially disoriented with his surroundings before he realises just exactly _where_ he is. Not long after, a pretty good idea of why he was there in the first place. He almost has to laugh at the irony of it all. Such bitter, cruel irony.

 

The sound of his stirring catches Viktor’s attention, who immediately rushes to his feet and gently helps Yuuri to sit up. He talks to him sweetly and cautiously, a guiding hand placed onto the small of his back.

 

“How are you feeling, _solnyshko_?” Viktor asks, examining him at arm’s length. “Do you feel any pain? Should I call a nurse?”

 

But Yuuri doesn’t hear him— well, not really. For the first time, he _truly_ takes in his surroundings. For the first time, he notices all the helium ‘get well soon’ balloons hovering in the corner of the room, the bouquets of flowers occupying every possible surface, and Hallmark cards propped up vertically in V-shapes so they could stand. All of this, just looking right in front of him.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says again, softly, cupping his cheek. The latter redirects his focus to the man beside him. Viktor is eyeing him cautiously and Yuuri doesn’t know what to make of it. His brows furrow.

 

When he tries saying Viktor’s name, his voice cracks. His throat is painfully dry, he realises with a wince. Viktor immediately grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table and twists the cap open, before raising it up to Yuuri’s chapped lips with a slightly quivering hand so the Japanese man could take a sip. When the first refreshing drop of water hits his tongue, it’s only then when Yuuri realises just how dehydrated and parched he is. He places his hand over Viktor’s, fingers not quite feeling his own, and tightens his grip on the bottle. He nearly manages to finish it all in one go, before letting it tip back down, the residual water sloshing about in its container.

 

Viktor tenderly caresses Yuuri’s head, placing a chaste kiss atop his temple. “Feel a bit better now, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri nods absently, losing himself to his thoughts again. He meets Viktor’s careful regard and his breath hitches in his throat. He quickly averts his gaze as Viktor pulls away to set the bottle back on the bedside table before moving closer to him to take Yuuri’s hand into his own, and Yuuri’s fingers instinctively curl around his. As Viktor studies him, he soon recognises the look on Yuuri’s face. He knows that expression of his, brows drawn together, lips pursed, and brown eyes clouded over; pensive. So Viktor stays silent and waits for Yuuri to work through his thoughts, to speak whenever he’s ready to. And when he is, Viktor will be there to listen this time.

 

For the Japanese man, there was no hiding now. It’s broad daylight, and the sunlight pours in through the shutters, forming stripes of light on the sheets. Chocolate brown eyes hesitantly skitter over to where the sheets sink, his legs forming valleys disproportionate, where the sheets dip back down to the bed.

 

…It wasn’t— It wasn’t a dream, or even a nightmare.

 

_It was real all along._

 

In that moment, _he knows_. He knows for sure now.

 

He didn’t want to believe it, but there was no way he could keep lying to himself about it. Could he? No. He couldn’t.

 

Out of reckless impulse, he yanks his hand out of Viktor’s grasp and practically rips the sheets off, revealing his lower body. He shudders, and before he knows it, Viktor’s arms are around him, holding him tightly. An anguished, guttural cry had clawed its way out of his mouth from the back of his throat as he buried his face into Viktor’s chest, sobs wracking his skinny— no, _emaciated_ — frame.

 

Viktor does not say anything and merely pulls Yuuri in closer to his chest, running his hand through soft black hair. The Japanese man is quivering in his embrace, trying his best to stifle the cries that threaten to escape his lips, muffled by the fabric of Viktor’s sweater. Yuuri feels something wet fall on his cheek and realises that Viktor is crying as well.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, his voice watery. He brings his hands to cup Yuuri’s cheeks, blotchy and red and streaked with tears. “I know that everything seems really bad right now, and I know nothing I say will make you feel better, but I promise you, it will get better. It _will_. We’ll get through this, alright? And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

 

Yuuri looks at him and manages a small smile. Viktor lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’s been holding in before leaning in and pressing a wet kiss against Yuuri’s lips. “I love you,” he whispers tenderly, giving him another quick kiss.

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri exclaims, voice still hoarse. His smile grows wider and it makes Viktor’s heart soar.

 

_It’s going to be okay,_ Yuuri thinks to himself. It feels more like a lie than anything, but— _Everything will be okay._

 

_Right?_

 

He tries not to dwell on the thought because if he does, knowing him, he’s only ever going to make it worse. It’s hard _not_ to think about it, honestly. He— He doesn’t even know the _extent_ of his injuries yet. He didn’t know how _long_ he’d be here. If he’d even leave at all. Stuck within the confines of these four whitewashed walls, it felt more like a prison than a hospital room. The wires connected to his body, chains that sustain him.

 

Kami-sama, Yuuri, _stop_.

 

He bites his lip; he can feel the back of his eyes stinging.

 

Stop thinking about it. Don’t think about it.

 

Don’t cry.

 

Don’t you dare cry.

 

As if sensing his distress (he probably did), Viktor starts to rub soothing circles onto Yuuri’s back, fingers inadvertently running over the vertebrae jutting out of Yuuri’s back. The touch is familiar, comforting. It manages to soothe some of Yuuri’s frazzled nerves and keep his tears at bay. Now he just feels this sort of _numbness_ or calm he usually gets after having a cry.

 

He does not know how much time has lapsed before he hears a knock on the door. Viktor stands up to answer it, slender fingers briefly brushing against the back of Yuuri’s hand in what he hoped to be a comforting gesture. From where Yuuri is sitting, he can’t see who Viktor is talking to, and their voices are too soft for him to hear. He sits up a bit straighter and pulls the sheet over his legs again when a woman in a white coat walks in, followed by a nurse in scrubs wheeling a small trolley.

 

The woman in white smiles at him warmly. “Good morning, Mr. Katsuki! I’m Dr. Hayashi, your doctor.”

 

“G-Good morning,” Yuuri stammers out, nodding at her politely.

 

“How are you feeling today?” She asks, walking to his side and examining his intravenous drip. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Viktor’s inquisitive yet cautious gaze. “Are you feeling any discomfort? Any pain?”

 

He turns to look at Dr. Hayashi, pausing for a moment before shaking his head. “I… No, not really.” _Not physically, anyway,_ he mentally adds, though not without a note of acrimony.

 

“That’s good,” she says, briefly writing something on the clipboard in her hand. He wonders what she wrote. He wonders if it was about him. It probably was.

 

He can see Viktor in his peripheral vision, saying something to the nurse. She nods before exiting the room.

 

“Now, Mr. Katsuki—” Dr. Hayashi begins, and there is a seriousness in her tone that wasn’t there before. Yuuri grows tense, internally bracing himself for the worst. “I know that everything is coming off as a shock to you right now, especially in your case, but I’ve already talked it through with your family and Mr. Nikiforov about therapy and rehabilitation. Rest assured we will do everything we can to make sure you recover smoothly.”

 

Yuuri nods— because what else can he do, right? It’s not like he _really_ has any say in the matter. He’ll go along with whatever they’ve planned without him because he _has_ to. Even though all Yuuri wants at the moment is for the bed to swallow him whole and consume him. As Dr. Hayashi continues to go on, he tunes them out— _all_ of them, honestly, even Viktor— and stares at the window. Though without his glasses, he can see the blue of Hasetsu’s ocean, and there are black dots moving around. Seagulls. Must be nice to be free like them. Funny, since the thought’s never crossed his mind before until now.

 

He doesn’t want to be here right now. He really, really doesn’t want to be here.

 

He feels something brush across his hand and he flinches, a twinge of guilt twisting in his chest when he sees it’s Viktor, who’s looking at him with wide icy blue eyes. “S-Sorry,” Yuuri says, forcing a small smile on his face and squeezing Viktor’s hand. “You startled me.”

 

“ _Solnyshko_ ,” Viktor says, “the doctor needs to change your bandages.”

 

The Japanese man’s eyes automatically flicker to the leg much shorter than the other and he’s overwhelmed with the rush of _pain_ he feels. He inhales sharply and turns his head away as if he’d been struck.

 

“You don’t have to watch, alright? Not if you aren’t ready yet,” Dr. Hayashi says.

 

An automatic ‘I’m sorry’ escapes Yuuri’s lips before he can even think about it.

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Dr. Hayashi reassures him, going over to the side of the bed and pressing a button, prompting the upper portion of the bed to move up to a 45° angle. She gestures for him to get comfortable and Yuuri hesitantly lies back down on the bed. He can feel his heartbeat picking up, and since he’s hooked up to the ECG monitor, he’s well aware everyone else can hear it. He can’t help it— he feels tense, and trepidation is a cold chill that slithers up his spine. His jaw is clenched and his grip on Viktor’s hand tightens, knuckles turning white. He daren’t look, curling into himself further.

 

Dr. Hayashi draws the white sheets back and Yuuri flinches. When she starts to undo the dressing, Viktor _swears_ he can hear Yuuri whimpering softly, his breathing growing louder and louder. He casts a quick glance at the heart monitor, and sure enough, Yuuri’s heart is beating faster.

 

“Just relax, okay?” The doctor says, glancing at him in concern. “Take deep breaths.”

 

Viktor wants to speak up, but he finds himself faltering. He studies Yuuri carefully for a moment before speaking up. “Maybe it’ll be better if I do it instead.”

 

Dr. Hayashi raises an eyebrow at him, expression slightly disbelieving. “Pardon?”

 

“It’s not the first time I’ve changed his dressings for him,” Viktor starts. “Nurse Sato was there to make sure I was doing everything correctly.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes flicker up to Viktor’s face, which is already alight with determination. “It’s not?” He can’t help but ask, voice small. Self-consciousness bubbles up to the surface, feeling painfully uncomfortable with the knowledge that Viktor had seen his leg (or what was left of it, rather), and had even taken it upon himself to change his bandages.

 

Viktor looks at him warmly, softly stroking the back of Yuuri’s hand. “Of _course_ , Yuuri. I want to be able to take care of you properly, so of course I’d have to learn how to, right? Now, Yuuri, will you let me change your dressing for you?”

 

“You don’t have to, Viktor,” Yuuri tries to reason, but Viktor waves it off.

 

“I know, but… I _want_ to do this for you, _solnyshko_. Will you let me take care of you?”

 

Yuuri stays silent for a few moments (and really, a part of him wants to say no, but—) then nods in his assent. Viktor beams at him, kissing Yuuri’s cheek with an audible ‘ _smack!_ ’ before pulling away and replacing the warmth of his hand with… a stuffed tiger? He wraps his free arm around the plush toy, studying it carefully.

 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, though he has a _pretty_ good idea from whom it came from, but it couldn’t _possibly_ be from—

 

“Oh, Yurio came by to visit! He got it for you. See, it’s even holding a bowl of katsudon! Isn’t it cute?” Viktor exclaims, stepping into the en suite for a quick moment. He makes sure to wash his hands with soap before he grabs a small metal basin and fills it with warm water and a bit of soap. He exits the bathroom with the basin in his hands, making his way to the farther side of the bed. Dr. Hayashi is watching the both of them silently with a mixture of bemusement and interest.

 

Viktor dries his hands off before putting on a pair of latex gloves from a box on the small trolley. He grabs a fluffy white towel and gently raises Yuuri’s leg up so he could place the towel spread out underneath it. He glances up at his fiancé momentarily, smiling reassuringly. “Alright, Yuuri, I’ll take your old bandages off now, alright?”

 

Yuuri nods, burying his face into the tiger plushy. He still daren’t look.

 

Viktor takes a deep breath before reaching for the dressing and carefully undoing it. The skin was still tender and his wounds were still healing, so Viktor _had_ to be careful, especially when it came to the skin near the stitches. As much as possible, he didn’t want to hurt Yuuri, but given the circumstance, he knew the pain was inevitable. But at least… he was doing this for Yuuri, and if anything, to make him more comfortable with the procedure.

 

He tosses the soiled bandages into a discreet metal rubbish bin hanging off of the trolley before grabbing a smaller towel and soaking it into the basin. He squeezes the excess water out and folds it into a square so he could clean Yuuri’s wound. He starts from one end of the stitches to the other, making sure he wipes away any dried blood. He pats it dry with a fresh towel before standing back up. He reaches for a half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide and and a clear bottle filled with sterilised saline, mixing amounts of both into a separate container, just like Nurse Sato instructed him to. He opens up a small tin and pulls out a handful of thick cotton pads and returns to Yuuri’s side.

 

Just as he’s about to pour the mixture onto Yuuri’s wound, he hesitates at the last second, hand inches away from his leg. He turns to look at Dr. Hayashi, _just_ to make sure he’s doing everything alright, and she gestures for him to go on. “This might sting a little, okay? If it hurts too much, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

 

Yuuri’s arms tighten its grip around the stuffed toy. He nods in acknowledgement.

 

Viktor can’t help but wince the moment he pours a small amount of the solution onto Yuuri’s wounds, wiping his skin with a fresh cotton pad. He thinks about how painful it must be, but he doesn’t stop— Yuuri doesn’t tell him to either. So he continues to clean the wounds with a steady hand, alternating between pouring and wiping. He changes the pads of cotton often, making sure not to go back to a cleaned spot with a pad of cotton that’s already been used.

 

“Just hold on a little bit longer, Yuuri,” Viktor says, pulling away momentarily to reach for the antiseptic gauze. He unfurls a guesstimate amount, from what he’s observed Nurse Sato doing when she would change Yuuri’s dressings. From that, he makes two thick pads, setting it side-by-side so it covers Yuuri’s stitches. When he applies pressure, he apologises profusely when Yuuri’s knee jerks up and he hisses in pain, instinctively trying to move his leg away. He secures the gauze with medical tape and redoes the outer dressing with more gauze, making sure the bandages aren’t loose or wound too tightly.

 

When Viktor draws the covers over Yuuri’s legs again, some of the tension leaves his shoulders and Yuuri feels like he can breathe again, somewhat. He takes a deep breath before meeting Dr. Hayashi’s eyes. “How bad was it? Aside from,” a vague gesture downwards, “ _that_.”

 

A beat of silence.

 

He doesn’t notice the way Viktor has grown still.

 

Dr. Hayashi smiles at him empathetically. “You sustained many injuries, Mr. Katsuki. We almost lost you. You’re very much lucky to be alive.”

 

Yuuri stays silent, mulling over her words.

 

“I’ll come by with your other doctor, Dr. Yamamoto, later in the afternoon,” she says, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “We’ll discuss the extent of your injuries in-depth then. We’ll also discuss plans for your recovery.”

 

He nods, absently staring down at the stuffed toy he’s holding. His recovery. It all seemed so distant, so out of reach, so far away. He doubted it, especially when everything ahead was so uncertain. The nurse from earlier reenters the room with his breakfast and that’s when Dr. Hayashi decides to take her leave.

 

* * *

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri speaks up, breaking the long but comfortable silence that had befallen them after Yuuri finished eating his breakfast. It was all liquid for now, but he was promised something more solid for lunch later. He’s on that cusp between consciousness and unconsciousness, and the painkillers coupled with feeling full has him teetering precariously towards the latter. But just as he was about to doze off, he remembered something, and he needed to know. “What date is it today?”

 

“Hm? Oh,” Viktor picks his phone up from the bedside table and checks the time. “December 3, why?” Then his expression turns sheepish for a moment. “Sorry we celebrated your birthday without you. Well— you were there. But you weren’t awake to celebrate with us.”

 

_That_ was something to note, but that isn’t where Yuuri’s attention is. His attention is on the _date_ — **_the date_**! How long had he been out of it? How long had be been asleep? His eyes widen in panic as he scrambles to sit up. “Viktor! The— The Grand Prix!”

 

“What about the Grand Prix?” Viktor asks him, a hand on Yuuri’s arm to steady him while he scrolls through his Instagram feed with his other hand.

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, urgency creeping into his voice. “You’re supposed to be in Europe _right now_.”

 

Realisation hits him and he gives his fiancé a reassuring smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not competing.”

 

“… _What_? W-What do you mean you’re not competing?!”

 

Viktor looks at him incredulously. “Yuuri, of course I can’t leave you like this.”

 

Yuuri shakes his head tersely. “ _No_. This is your last season, Viktor, you should _go_!”

 

“No! Yuuri, I’m not leaving,” Viktor says, unsure whether to laugh or to cry. Even while hospitalised in the ICU, Yuuri still put others before himself. He reaches over and runs his hand through Yuuri’s hair. “I still have Worlds if you still want me to compete. Don’t you want me to take care of you?”

 

“You don’t have to, Viktor, I’m in the _hospital_ , I’ll be fine!”

 

“Yuuri, stop, you’re being _unreasonable_ right now,” Viktor coaxes, sensing Yuuri’s growing apprehension. Yuuri’s hand is trembling as he clutches the sheets in his hand.

 

“I want you to go! I don’t want to drag you down with me!” Yuuri restates, desperately trying to get Viktor to see the _urgency of it_.

 

Viktor is taken aback by the response. “But you’re _not_ bringing me down—”

 

“Yes I am!” Yuuri exclaims, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I’m a burden and you’re _stuck_ here and you can’t compete because of _me_! I— I know it matters to you, okay? That’s why I want you to go on and compete! You _earned this_ , Viktor, you _deserve it_!”

 

“And you think I can in this state of mind?” Viktor says brusquely. He laughs in disbelief. “Yuuri, I honestly don’t give a _shit_ about the Grand Prix anymore. All I care about is you, okay? So it’s all fine, I swear!”

 

“But it’s _not_ fine! I’m not going anywhere!” Yuuri yells out, and that’s when the tears come. They fall down his cheeks in rivulets, dripping down and soaking his hospital gown. “I’m just _here_! I’m _stuck_ here! Do you really _think_ I can do _anything_ right now!”

 

Viktor rises up to his feet, internally panicking. “Y-Yuuri, please, you’re being ridiculous right now—” And when he reaches for his fiancé, Yuuri flinches out of his grasp.

 

“I’m not! I’m _not_ being ridiculous!” Because it all makes sense in Yuuri’s head now. His thoughts are moving a mile a minute, and he can see everything _falling apart_. How everything _will_ fall apart, _inevitably_. And no matter what he did, even if he tried his hardest, nothing— _nothing_ — would go back to the way things were. _Nothing_ would be able to rectify what he’s lost, and now he’s pushing Viktor away because it— it _hurts_. It hurts to be near him right now, and what makes it even worse is that _he’s_ the one making Viktor feel this away, and _Yuuri can’t take it anymore_ —“Get out! Get out, Viktor, I don’t want to see you right now!”

 

“Yuuri, I—” Viktor looks at him with _shock_ and  _hurt_  before he shakes his head, reaching for his phone and jacket, and promptly exiting the room.

 

The moment the door closes behind him, a terrible silence falls over the room. Yuuri’s words are finally catching up to him, and that’s when it all crashes into him like a tidal wave. He rakes his hand through his hair, curled into himself as he, too, falls apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I've had this idea in my mind for a while now, and I ended up with this. Prepare for the angst and feels bc THERE'S A LOT MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM- Pls leave a kudos or a comment! ♡ I live for those tbh-


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